Message in a Bottle - Nicholas Sparks [58]
She shot him a challenging smile. “So, what’s so special about these steaks?”
Clearing his mind, he poured some brandy into a shallow bowl. “There’s a few things. First, you get a couple of thick filets like these. The store doesn’t usually cut them this thick, so you have to ask for it special. Then you season them with a little salt, pepper, and garlic powder, and you let them soak in the brandy while the coals are turning white.”
He did this as he spoke, and for the first time since she’d met him, he looked his age. Based on what he’d told her, he was at least four years younger than she was.
“That’s your secret?”
“It’s only the beginning,” he promised, suddenly aware of how beautiful she looked. “Right before they go on the grill, I’ll add some tenderizer. The rest of it involves how you cook them, not what they’re flavored with.”
“You sound like you’re quite a cook.”
“No, not really. I’m good with a few things, but I don’t prepare many meals these days. By the time I get home, I’m usually in the mood for something that doesn’t take much effort.”
“That’s how I am. If it wasn’t for Kevin, I don’t think I’d cook very much at all anymore.”
Since he was finished with the steaks for now, he went to the drawer again and found a knife, returning to her side. He reached for a couple of tomatoes that were on the counter and began dicing.
“It sounds like you have a great relationship with Kevin.”
“I do. I just hope it continues. He’s almost a teenager now, and I worry that when he gets older, he’s going to want to spend less time with me.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much. From the way you talk about him, I would think that you two will always be close.”
“I hope so. Right now, he’s all I have—I don’t know what I’d do if he started to shut me out of his life. I have some friends with boys a little older than he is, and they tell me it’s inevitable.”
“I’m sure he’s going to change somewhat. Everyone does, but that doesn’t mean he won’t talk to you.”
She looked over at him. “Are you talking from experience or just telling me what I want to hear?”
He shrugged, again noticing her perfume. “I’m just remembering what I went through with my father. We’d always been close growing up, and it didn’t change when I started high school. I started doing different things and seeing my friends more, but we still talked all the time.”
“I hope it’s the same way for me,” she said.
With the preparation under way, a peaceful silence descended upon them. The simple act of cutting tomatoes with her by his side eased some of the anxiety he’d felt up to this point. Theresa was the first woman he’d invited to this house, and Garrett realized there was something comfortable about having her here.
When he finished, Garrett put the tomatoes in the salad bowl and wiped his hands on a paper towel. Then he bent over to remove his second beer.
“Are you up for another?”
She drained the last of her bottle, surprised she had finished so quickly. She nodded, setting the empty bottle on the counter. Garrett twisted off the bottlecap and handed her another, opening one for himself. Theresa was relaxing against the counter, and when she took the bottle, something about the way she was standing struck him as familiar: the smile playing across her lips, maybe, or the slant of her gaze as she watched him lift his own bottle to his mouth. He was reminded again of that lazy summer afternoon with Catherine, when he’d come home to surprise her for lunch—a day that in retrospect seemed so fraught with signs… yet how could he have foreseen everything that would happen? They had stood in the kitchen, just as he and Theresa were doing now.
“I take it you’ve already eaten,” Garrett said as Catherine stood in front of the open refrigerator.
Catherine glanced at him. “I’m not very hungry,” she said. “But I am thirsty. Do you want some iced tea?”
“Tea sounds great. Do you know if the mail came in yet?”
Catherine nodded as she pulled the pitcher of tea from the top shelf. “It’s on the table.”
She opened the